


secrets i have held in my heart

by citrinevaliance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (as usual), Basically, Hunk as an interesting character, Idiot Lance, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Teen Angst, and you get an inferiority complex, but hooo boy, if i write any more, is that i'm, no one dealing with their emotions properly (as usual), oblivious Shiro, sadist writer oprah, what i'm saying, which i didn't get to go into because it was about lance, you get an inferiority complex!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:06:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinevaliance/pseuds/citrinevaliance
Summary: In which no one deals with emotions, and everyone is Very Oblivious and Very Sad. (except hunk.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys (which I would like to think is delightfully cliché but is probably just pretentious)

                Keith is on top of the rankings, _again_.

                “Seriously?! What the fuck!” Lance yells, ignoring the growing crowd of people who are rolling their eyes at him.

                “I don’t know dude,” says Hunk, who is standing right behind him, staring wistfully at the dessert line, which is growing longer by the minute.

                “I thought I had him beat for sure! There's no way! I mean- what was the point of studying-” He realizes he is yelling. “I mean,” he says even louder, “helping _Hunk_ study."

                Everyone in the vicinity rolls their eyes.

                “Look man,” Hunk says with a sigh, “I am all for helping you come to terms with not beating Keith _again_ , but if I miss dessert again because of it-“

                “Alright, alright,” says Lance, shoulders slumped. He begins to walk away. “I’ll be in our room. Sleeping or something.”

                Hunk sighs again, He takes one last look at the dessert line, and follows Lance. Lance has rounded the corner, and is walking on the far left of the hallway, dragging his hand against the orange glow of the light panels.

                “Hey,” says Hunk.

                Lance grunts.

                Hunk looks at Lance sideways, and stares ahead, thinking out his wording.

                “You’re an amazing pilot, you know.”

                Lance mutters something.

                “Huh?” Hunk says, leaning in closer.

                “I said,” Lance says, just loud enough to be heard. “Obviously not _that_ amazing.”

“No dude, you are.”

                Lance huffs. “I crash every sim.”

                Hunks snorts. “Well yeah, but that’s only because you take stupid risks. You’d ace them all if you didn’t do fancy tricks. At least you don’t throw up every time the sim launches.”

                “But _he_ does fancy tricks, and _he_ gets perfect scores.” Lance is determinedly staring at the ground.

                They round a corner, and they’re suddenly alone. Hunk spots an empty classroom, and pulls Lance in.  Hunk sits down on the teacher’s desk, and Lance leans against the wall by the door.

                “Look man, you have got to stop comparing yourself.”

                “How am I supposed to? If I don't- what if I don't- What if I lose?” Lance is looking Hunk right in the eyes. There is a desperate edge to his voice.

                “Lose what? If you don’t get into the Garrison this year, you can always try again next year.”

                “But if I lose, then they’ll know I’m not good enough. They’ll-” his voice breaks. “They won’t let me come back.”

                Hunk snorts. “Dude, you have literally never worried about authority before.”

                Lance looks up at Hunk. "But what if-"

               "I swear to god Lance, do you really think me or your family are going to want to deal with you moping for the rest of your life? We're not going to let you lose this."

               Lance grins weakly, "Can you imagine Corporal Kaplan dealing with my mom?”

               Hunk grins back at Lance. "I can and I would pity him for it." 

               "Actually- so long as we're on the topic of defying authority."

               "We weren't, actually," mutters Hunk, "And I swear if you mention anything that could get me on trash duty again.."

               "Let's sneak out."

                Hunk groans. “Nope. No more of your harebrained schemes. I refuse to go back to the kitchen this .” He gets off the desk, and moves to the door.

                “Come on man,” Lance says, as they walk out the door, “It’ll be fun. What could go wrong?”

                Hunk groans. “Last time you said that, I got stuck cleaning the showers. Do you know how gross that is?” He shudders. “I saw things.”

                “Oh come on,” Lance says. “This won’t be at all like last time. I have a plan.”       

 

 

                It’s something like two in the morning when Lance wakes up.

               Hunk is snoring. _Loudly_. Lance frowns up at the ceiling. Goodbye beauty sleep.

                He climbs out of bed, and nearly yelps when his feet hit the cold floor. He tugs on a pair of boots, and tucks his sweatpants into them, and then grabs a hoodie, which he pulls over his shirt.

                The hallways are silent when he walks out into them, the glow from the light panels dimmed, eerie against the shiny surface of the ceiling.

                His stomach grumbles, and he takes the turn to the cafeteria. The sequence is easy to guess, he’s done dish washing duty often enough to know when they rotate the codes. He punches the right one into the pad, and the metal door slides open.

                He’s grabbed a pudding, and is eating it as he walks around the complex, considering the benefits of trying to get out onto the roof when he walks into a hallway that’s completely lit up. Someone is in the training room.

                He snorts. What over-dedicated insomniac would be _training_ at this hour? He edges up to the door carefully, and peeks in carefully through one of the windows.

                The training room is dark, the row of windows at the end letting moonlight in. All the equipment has been pushed to one side, and in the middle of the floor someone is doing some form of martial arts barefoot. And shirtless.

               Lance straightens up. Rules be damned, he wants to know karate too. The person turns. It’s Keith.

               Lance jumps three feet in the air, and waits for Keith to roll his eyes, or get him thrown out, or something, but nothing happens. Only then does he realize that Keith’s eyes are closed. Lance lets out a sigh of reliefe.

                Keith’s eyes snap open, and Lance whirls to one side, hoping Keith hasn’t seen him. Without looking behind him, he sprints back to his room, pudding in hand.

                When he collapses on the bed it is long before his heart stops pounding, and even longer before the image of Keith in the moonlight leaves him long enough to fall asleep.

               

 

                Hunk has not stopped dragging his feet.

                “Come on man, I don’t think this is a good idea.” He’s pulling at his fingers, walking behind Lance, whose hands are stuck in the pockets of his jacket.

                “We’ll be fine. We’ve already gotten out. If we go back now, there’s even more chance of us getting caught.” Lance slings his arm around Hunk’s shoulders.  “Chill, have some fun.”

                Hunk sighs reluctantly. “Why do I have the feeling I’m going to regret this?”

                “Because your feelings are wrong?” Lance offers.

                Hunk sighs again.

                “Here.” Lance pulls him off the main street into an alleyway.

                An old door is propped half-open, its greyish surface covered with old graffiti half-worn off.                   

                “Uh Lance,” Hunk stops right before he enters the door. “Where did you hear about this place?”

                “Erin.”

                “Erin as in wow-erin-is-hot-despite-her-being-utterly-terrifying? Erin-who-will-probably-eat-you-alive-if-you-tlak-to-her-erin? That Erin?”

                Lance grins. “Exactly. I got her number. In the end, no one can resist the Lance.”

                “Oh yeah, I’m sure Erin-with-eyeliner-sharp-enough-to-cut-you-and-heels-that-actually-will-cut-you just couldn’t resist your infallible charm.”

                “It’s cool dude, no need to stress about being a third wheel.” Lance leans against the doorway. “I got you a date too.”

                Hunk’s face drops. “You what.”

                “I know, right? No need to thank me bro. I got you covered.”

                “You know what? I think I’m gonna head back. See you tomorrow.” Hunk turns around.

                Lance grabs the back of Hunk’s jacket. “Oh no you don’t. Come on big guy.”

                The club is alternately bright and dark. Flashing lights in all colors are bright on the walls. The place has tiered sets, like an amphitheater, or coliseum, with a dance floor in the middle. Along one wall are a series of tables sat next to what is probably supposed to be a bar.

                Lance scans the club, and is quickly hailed by a girl on the dance floor in an emerald green slinky sort of dress, and stilettos so sharp it’s a wonder she hasn’t stabbed anyone with them. Another girl, dancing next to her is wearing the same sort of dress, only in purple, with black cobwebby stuff that might be lace, and eyeliner that seems to take up half her eyelids.

                Hunk is unceremoniously hauled towards both of them.

                “Hey girls,” Lance says, putting on his signature smirk (which Hunk has caught him practicing in the bathroom at least five times.)

                The one in the purple dress looks Hunk up and down speculatively, and then turns to Erin. She frowns, and Hunk tries not to let his shoulders slump any more. He looks over at Lance, who is already dancing with Erin, oblivious.

                “I’ll uh-” he yells over the music, “Get us some drinks.”

                The girl glances at him from where she’s already dancing with another guy, and shrugs, moving farther onto the dance floor. Lance doesn’t see him slip out the door.

 

 

                Lance is sweaty, and tired, and the dance floor is feeling less and less appealing by the minute. Normally being grinded on would have been great, but the novelty wears off when it just keeps going on and on and on. Especially when everyone else is sweaty too.

                He yells something to Erin about drinks, but she doesn’t look up from where she’s still dancing, grinding on some girl in red. He shrugs, and tramps up to the highest level.

                Lance bumps into someone who mutters an apology, and he turns to stare after them. They’re way older than anyone else there. Either that, or they’re on enough steroids to be hospitalized. The person casts a glance over their shoulder.

                “Holy shit,” he whispers, “Holy shit. No fucking way.” It’s Takashi Shirogane.

               What does he do? Should he ask for an autograph inside a probably illegal club for teenagers? What is fucking Takashi Shirogane, pilot of the Kerberos mission which leaves _next fucking week_ doing inside a probably illegal club for teenagers?

                Someone bumps into him again, almost knocking him over, and Lance glares at their back.

                “Fucking _move_ dumbass,” says another person behind him, and he gets out of the way.

               He’s still watching Shiro when he backs up against the wall. The person who told him to move has walked up to Shiro and is sitting down with him. He’s squints at the back of their head. It’s Keith.

               ( _Why would it_ not _be Keith_ , he thinks, slightly hysterically.)

               Keith pulls up a chair right next to Shiro, and sits down, leaning against him. He says something stupid, probably, and Shiro laughs, and ruffles his hair.

               Lance inches closer, back still pressed up against the wall. Why the fuck is Keith leaning against Shiro like that? Why is Keith staring up at Shiro like that?

               Shiro says something, and Keith shoves him. Shiro laughs again.

               Lance inches close enough to hear some of their conversation.

               “Really… last night you’re here?... Honestly, I thought... good taste,” says Keith.

               “Rite of passage…” Shiro says, “You asked…” He grins

               “Fuck you,” Keith says, and grins back.

               Keith is staring at Shiro’s face intensely, (weirdly intensely. Honestly, did the guy never learn any manners?) Shiro hasn’t noticed either of their scrutiny.

               Lance looks at the rainbow lights washing over Keith’s face. Keith’s lips are parted, like he’s about to say something, and his eyes are shining, and black shirt is just very slightly stretched across his chest. Shiro looks at his watch, and mutters something about needing to go. Keith’s mouth closes, and his eyes darken.

               Keith nods, and stands up with Shiro. He hugs him tightly, and Shiro returns the embrace. Shiro ruffles Keith’s hair one more time before he leaves.

               Keith sits back down, red lights flashing over his hand, and Lance watches him draw in a deep, shuddery breath. Something in Lance twists uncomfortably at it, and he turns before he can feel it again.

 

 

               That night, he dreams he is in the training room with Keith.

               Keith is shirtless, clad only in a pair of sweatpants. The muscles in his arms and chest stand out, stark white in the light of the moon.

               He too, is shirtless, Lance realizes when he looks down, and wearing the same pair of thin sweatpants as Keith. Lance is oddly warm.

               Keith is staring at him, and Lance realizes that he is in sparring stance. Lance tries to imitate him.

               They stare at each other. Keith’s eyes are very, very, grey. Lance’s gaze drops from Keith’s eyes to Keith’s lips, which are so very red, and from Keith’s lips to Keith’s chest. And from Keith’s chest his gaze drops down farther.

               Keith’s arms have dropped, and hands are on him now, burning against his skin, and they are pushing him to the floor. His lips brush against Lance’s neck, and his hips are pressed up against him.

                Lance presses his face into the crook of Keith’s neck, smelling his hair.

                It smells like… fruity body lotion and old gym socks?

                Lance sits straight up in bed. He looks down at his pillow, and sees a pair of socks there that had been tiredly cast off a couple hours ago.

                “Oh gross,” he moans.

                “Huh?” Hunk says blearily, from across the room.

                “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

                “Will do.”

                Lance tosses the socks off his pillow, and turns it over. He flops back down onto it, and pulls the covers up to his neck. Sleep does not come easily, but come it does.

                The next morning he remembers nothing about the dream.

 

 

 

 

               

                Lance is staring at his face in the mirror. He leans in close to it, and pulls at the skin under his eyes, and frowns. He splashes water on his face, and looks at himself again. He groans. It has been months since he's been able to sleep well. He slips out the bathroom door, and closes it. It slams shut.

                “Shit,” he mutters.

                “What the fuck dude?” Comes Hunk’s bleary voice. “Are we late again?”

                Lance glances at the window. It’s still dark. The clock on the wall reads way too early to be awake.

                “Uh no.” He shakes his head. “Couldn’t sleep. Imma go shower.”

                “Okay,” Hunk yawns, “Bye.”

                The hallways are still dark. The showers are blissfully empty, the only good thing to come out of the whole “not being asleep at ungodly hours” thing. The water is hot too, which makes a nice change.

                Lance undresses quickly, and grabs a towel. He doesn’t stay in the water long. Dark circles are bad enough, but dark circles _and_ pruney skin? He’ll die before that happens.

                Someone walks in as he’s tying a towel around his waist. They’re undressing behind the lockers, and he hopes he can slip on his pajamas and sneak out before they see him.

                The other person walks around the lockers with only a towel around their waist. It’s Keith.

                He blinks, annoyed. Lance blinks back, confused.

               Lance tries very hard not to stare at his abs (it’s unfair really, how good they are.) Keith walks past him, and Lance turns away quickly.

                Lance checks his face in the mirrors on the way out. He’s blushing from the steam.

 

                “It’s just not fucking fair. He has better flying skills, he has better abs, he knows karate and shit, and he fucking hangs out with Shiro. How am I supposed to compete with the guy?”

                Hunk sighs, and puts down his pudding cup. “Maybe you shouldn’t compete with- wait, did you say Shiro?”

                Lance nods, staring at the scuffed grey of the cafeteria tables.

                “As in Takashi Shirogane the captain of the Kerberos mission who is _totally fucking awesome?_ ”

                “That’s the one.” Keith frowns.

                “Do you think Keith could get me his autograph? Like when he gets back?”

                “Maybe? No? I don’t know. Look, this is beside the point.”

                Hunk pauses, and stares at Lance, narrowing his eyes. “How does he know Shiro?”

                Lance puts his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I saw them together a couple months ago. On that date with Erin.”

                Hunk looks down. He blinks, and shakes his head. “Together together or _together_ together?”

                “Is there a difference? I don’t know.”

                Hunk raises his eyebrows. “Whatever you say.”

                “I just don’t know what to do. How does he beat me in _literally everything_?”

                “You sure you’re worried about him beating you?”

                Lance glares up at Hunk. “What else would I be worried about?”

                Hunk shrugs, and takes a bite of pudding.

                “Screw this,” Lance says, pushing away his tray, “Imma go workout. Maybe that’ll clear my head.”

 

                The showers are hot. Steam curls off the floors and off the walls, obscuring everything more than a few feet away from him.

                Keith is standing right in front of him, his eyes are very, very dark. Both of them are entirely naked. Lance looks down for a second, and before he knows it, Keith’s mouth is on his, and his hands are roving all over Lance’s body.

                Keith begins kissing his way down Lance’s neck, until he’s at his collarbone, and he bites that, and Lance moans. He falls back onto the bench behind him.

                “Oh fuck,” he breathes. One of Keith’s hands have reached down and taken hold of him. It’s stroking, pulling Lance nearer to the edge with every little movement. He’s so, so close-

 

 

                Lance wakes up instantly.

                “What the fuck,” he breathes. “What the fuck.”

                Lance pulls his boots on and leaves the room without a sound.

                The night air is clear and cold once he gets up onto the roof. He takes deep breaths.

                “Why on earth,” he says to the stars, “What could possibly-” He sighs. “What the fuck?” The stars do not answer.

                _Why would I?_ He thinks _. I’m not like that. I’ve never been like that. I’m- girls are hot. Girls are_ gorgeous.

               He snorts angrily, and watches his breath turn to crystals in the air.

_It can’t have been me. It’s never- I’ve never- before. It’s not me._

               Lance clenches his hand into a tight fist, letting his fingernails make little crescents on his palm. He does not let go.

               

                Lance walks into training ten minutes late. Everyone is there; everyone but Keith. The sim is in use. Lance frowns.

                “Thirty pushups, Mcclain,” says the instructor. “And dish duty for the next week.”

                Lance finishes the pushups, and Keith walks out of the sim.

                He bumps into Lance.

                “Watch it,” Keith mutters, arms tense. Lance pulls his gaze away from the muscles standing out in them.

                “You watch it,” he growls back.

                His arm is wrenched behind his back before he can even turn. His legs are kicked out from under him unceremoniously, with a sharp kick.

                “Kogane! Let him go!” The instructor is right beside them. Keith gives Lance’s arm a particularly vicious twist before he lets it go. “What happened?”

                Neither boy looks her in the eye.

                “Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough before.” Her blue eyes are narrowed, her tone is icy cold. “We do not tolerate infighting or bullying. If neither of you tell me who is at fault, you will both be expelled.”

                Keith and Lance look at each other for a moment. Keith's eyes are very wide, and very grey, and very bright.

                Lance freezes.

                “He-uh- I knocked into him,” says Lance. “And we have this challenge where we try and um- teach eachother new moves and-”

                “It was me,” Keith says, interrupting. “He bumped into me and I attacked him.” He does not offer further explanation.

                The instructor’s eyes sweep over them. She straightens her back. “Keith Kogane, I place you on probation from the flight academy on charges of assaulting a fellow student. Unless evidence should come to light that gives a reasonable basis for your actions, or significant amendments and reparations are made for your behavior, you will be expelled.”

                Keith doesn’t reply, he just turns around and walks out the door.

                The instructor barely looks them over before leaving the room, heels clicking on the floor. “Class dismissed.”

                Lance runs out the door Keith left by, and looks right to see Keith disappearing behind a corner.

                He runs up to Keith, and grabs his hand.

               Keith turns around, glaring. “What.”

               Lance lets go. “I’m uh- I’m sorry for earlier. I’ll help with the whatever she called it. The uh- reparations or something.”

               “I don’t need your help.”

               “Are you sure? I could-”

               “Fuck off.”

               Keith back around and keeps walking, stony faced. Lance doesn’t follow.

               He walks back to the training room, face curiously impassive.

               “Hey dude,” Hunk says. “You okay?”

               Lance doesn’t reply.

               “Y’know uh,” Hunk rubs the back of his neck. “Y’know the Kerberos mission crashed, right? It was all over the news this morning. Keith might be a little torn up. You shouldn’t take anything he says too personally.”

               “I don’t think it’s possible to _not_ take what he said personally. But uh- thanks. That does- that does sorta explain a lot.”

               “You okay?” Hunk asks again.

               Lance looks up at him, and grins. (It almost looks real.) “My number one rival has just been kicked out of flight school, how could I not be?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are craved. (all of them. especially constructive criticism.)


End file.
